


Resurrecting the Lady

by Corporate_Blood



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Lots of Petyr's feels, My take on Lady Stoneheart, One Shot, Paying off the Frey, Petyr can use magic, Petyr deserves better, Some Fluff, Soup, Unrequited love resolved, post Red Wedding, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24642469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corporate_Blood/pseuds/Corporate_Blood
Summary: “My master wishes to take a body off your hands,” the boy said.“And who is your master?” Walder asked, his hard eyes looking over the boy.“Lord Baelish.”“And which body does Baelish show interest in?”“The late Lady Stark.”
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark, Petyr Baelish/Lady Stoneheart
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Resurrecting the Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am still working on 'In my arms', I'm just pulling a bit of a GRRM :p
> 
> Enjoy regardless!

Walder Frey sat at the high table, overseeing the clean up. The Red Wedding had been messy but that was the Stark boy’s fault. _Young Wolf indeed,_ he thought with a snort. And now their bodies had to be dealt with. Burning them seemed to be the best course of action.

But then he’d been approached with an interesting offer.

A boy, only a few years older than Robb, walked up to the high table. He bowed to Walder before speaking.

“My master wishes to take a body off your hands,” the boy said.

“And who is your master?” Walder asked, his hard eyes looking over the boy.

“Lord Baelish.”

“And which body does Baelish show interest in?”

“The late Lady Stark.”

Walder’s eyes flicked over to the dead Lady Stark. It was no secret that Baelish had been pining over that Stark for quite some years, even duelling for her hand some years ago. He looked back to the boy. “And what does Baelish have to offer?”

He stepped forward and produced a small bag stuffed full of coins. Walder moved aside the plates of food and, once handed the bag, tipped it out to count the coins. He sorted them into stacks, gnawing on a chicken leg as he did so. He ended up with quite a few stacks, amounting to a one thousand gold dragons. Despite being a minor lord, Baelish had become quite wealthy. _No doubt from his whore houses,_ Walder thought. He scooped all the dragons back into the bag, gaze wandering over to the body in question. Two men came forward to dispose of the body, halting when Walder held up his hand.

“The body is yours, boy. I’m sure your master will enjoy it,” he said, a cruel smile twisting his features. He signalled for the body to be brought over and his men left the boy with it. 

The boy carried the body out of the hall and loaded it into a wooden box, sealing it tightly inside. He hopped up into the driver’s seat and began the long journey.

* * *

He arrived quite some time later in the Vale. His actual destination is the fingers, specifically the smallest of them. There, Lord Baelish was, awaiting the body. The boy arrived at the unnamed tower in which the Lord resided. It was dark, a storm brewing as if the Gods themselves knew of what was to come. Wind and rain lashed the boy as he hurried to get the box inside. It was no easy task by himself but the tower was understaffed so no one was coming to help. He hauled the door open with his shoulder, the wind slamming it shut behind him and causing him to jump. The box slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor.

“Careful with that!” Baelish roared, stepping out from the shadows.

The boy cowered away. “I’m sorry master,” he whimpered, backing up as Baelish approached.

He bent down to inspect the box, finding no damage thankfully. His fingers, pale and slender, ran over the wooden edges. He stared down at the box, his expression almost pleasant before it hardened again when his gaze switched back to the boy.

“Can I trust you to carry it to my work space?” He asked the boy, an edge to his voice. 

The boy quickly nodded. “Yes, m’lord.”

Baelish then stood up, allowing the boy to rush forward and pick up the box. Baelish led the way through the tower, going down a secret set of stairs. Their footsteps echoed off the stonewalls, sounding very loud in the silence. A rumble of thunder was heard overhead and the boy startled with a yelp. The box was bounced around in his grip but he managed not to drop it. Baelish sent a glare his way but continued down the steps. Perhaps the body would be enough to distract Baelish from punishing the boy. He sure hoped so.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the boy’s arms were aching, his fingers scrabbling to keep his grip on the box. They came to a seeming dead end, nothing down here but a small space surrounded by stone walls. Rain water seeped down the walls, collecting in shallow puddles on the floor. 

“Put down the box and leave us, boy,” Baelish commanded, his voice quiet as he was lost in thought. The boy placed the box in a dry spot next to his master before hurrying up the stairs, glad to escape without punishment. Baelish stood alone, the soft dripping of water and muffled rumbles of thunder his only company. He turned his attention to the wall in front of him, drawing close. Here, the bricks were much more pronounced and he ran a hand over them. In truth, he knew which brick to press, he was just savouring the moment.

He pressed the brick a moment later, and it went inward with a _clunk_. Mechanisms whirred from within the fake wall, splitting down the middle and each half drawing to the side. Inside laid his work space. He carefully took the box inside and placed it next to a metal table. He prised the box open, taking a first look at Cat.

Her skin was pale and waxy looking, her hair limp and dull. A wide slit ran across her throat, dried blood covering her neck and clothes. Her eyes were closed, her mouth agape slightly. 

A pang shot through him. Had Baelish not been able to save her, his heart would have broken into a million pieces - something he’d never be able to recover from.

He reached into the box, picking up her body and holding her in his arms. He held her in a bridal carry, something he’d pictured doing on their wedding night. She would look beautiful dressed in his house colours, a cloak with his sigil draping over her shoulders. Her attire would scream _I belong to Petyr_ and he would be eager to seal that when taking her to bed to consummate the marriage. 

Shaking his head, he forced himself to return to the present and gently laid her on the table. Kicking the box aside, he busied about checking things. He had the book, one about dark magic that had taken him years to get ahold on, open to the right page and placed upon a wooden stand. He stalked over to it, skimming over the words he had already read thousands of times. A simple refresh, that’s all he needed. Picking up the freshly ground ingredients, he walked back over to the table. 

He sprinkled the ingredients over Cat, muttering an incantation as he did. He dusted her head, her torso, both her upturned wrists, and then both her ankles. Thunder rumbled overhead, much louder than before when he finished his incantation. _The Gods must be angry,_ he mused with a smirk. The pestle and mortar is put down on a side table, the book being picked up in his hand. He drew up to his full height, not especially that tall when compared to most lords and even some ladies, and read aloud from the book;

_O Gods above,_

_Whoever’s there,_

_Do return this soul._

_For seasons come and seasons go,_

_But Catelyn Stark is forever._

_I proclaim my love for all to see,_

_Now do return her to me._

A crack of lightning was heard, the following rumble of thunder louder than a thousand roaring Lannisters. Wind lashed the tower and rain poured in, almost flooding the room. Baelish rushed and pressed a different brick, slamming the fake wall shut. A few puddles had formed at his feet from the water but it was better than the alternative. He set the book down and brought over a chair, watching the body.

After a few minutes, she stirred as life returned to her. Her eyelids fluttered, lips parting slightly as she sucked in breath. He watched her chest rise and fall as her lungs returned to work. She opened her eyes, gazing blearily at the high ceiling. He stood slowly, careful not to scare her.

“Catelyn Stark?” He asked gently, his voice having a thicker accented tilt to it. She turned her head slightly and looked at him. Her eyes were duller in colour and her vision seemed to be glazed over but nevertheless his heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to speak but he gently shushed her. “Save your strength, my love, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.” He then picked the book back up, flicking through to find a useful spell to get rid of the water outside his work space. He muttered something and then rushed over to the false wall, pressing his ear against it. Upon hearing nothing to indicate high water levels, he took the chance and opened the false door. The floor was slicker than before, more puddles to wade through but he could deal with this. He crossed to the bottom of the stairs, splashing through the puddles as he did, and yelled up. “Boy!”

The boy’s face appeared at the top, paler than before. “Yes, m’lord?”

“The Lady is awake. Fetch her something warm and hearty - easily digestible at that.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the boy nodded before hurrying off to comply. 

“Petyr?” Came Catelyn’s raspy voice. His head snapped back to her, a wave of lust and affection crashing over him. If her body and mind weren’t so frail, he would already be ontop of her. He kept his passion in check as he walked back over to her side. She had propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes searching over his face. By the Gods he wanted to take her, fully make her his. 

The boy appeared at his side not a moment later, bringing him back to the present. A warm bowl of soup was pressed into his hands and he dismissed the boy without a word. He gently fed her the soup, his mind swirling with what he would do with her once she had regained her strength.


End file.
